Ignorance is Bliss
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: BtVS xover. Good intentions pave the way to Hell, literally. The ensouled Spike saves Dru from Angel's stake, hoping to find her soul and unaware of the consequences. Featuring prophetic Xander. Post Not Fade Away. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Joss owns everything. . . Like Bill Gates.**

**A/N: The story as a whole is more Buffy based, but the first part (couple of chapters) is mostly recapping the end of the Angel series, so if any of you don't know what's going on, feel free to send a PM. **

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 1: Battle's End, Journey's Begin**

The blood was thick in the air, and it filled Spike's senses, pushing him over the edge as he moved about, slamming the heads of minor demons into brick and pushing the hissing, clawing creatures back. But it always came down to the blood. The killer in him was excited, and he doubted he would have been able to drop his gameface if he'd wanted to. It gave him no pleasure, though, not the part of him that hurt, the part of him that felt, because he knew that through the thick haze of sticky demon essence, he could taste human life floating in red clouds.

Gunn's was the thickest but more came from a homeless man who had innocently stumbled upon the horrid battle. His grandsire's scent was heavy as well. Hell, if he concentrated enough, he could even pick up Wesley's blood, cold and dry, on Illyria's blue tipped fingers.

Spike thought he had never felt so alive and dead before. He had been in big battles, died, went poof in the pretty light, but he hadn't been so wired in the past. And why did the molecules move so fast? Why? Because he had been given time to think, and he had taken it. He knew the truth about himself. He knew the truth about _her_, and that fact alone did not frustrate him as much as he'd thought it would. No, it invigorated him.

"Watch your back!" Angel growled from behind the other vampire, taking out an ugly seven-foot monster that had been hovering an ax over Spike's head seconds earlier.

Spike blinked—he was amazed that Angel had been willing to lose his ground to save him. He smirked.

"Thanks, Peaches."

Angel deserved something more sincere, but what he had done to save his grandchilde hadn't really helped the group. They were both going to die soon, taken away in clouds of dust. That was how they'd planned the night, after all. Intermission was over, and it was time for the final act. The demons seemed to slow time, surrounding the vampires fighting back to back.

Three.

Illyria was half a block away, a huge distance in the crowd of flesh hungry creatures. She was a storm, but the mountains were blocking her path.

Two.

There was no one else to aid them. Every human that had been at their aid was gone, and Lorne was god-knows-where. There was no hope, only anger and hate as the enemy moved closer.

One.

Footsteps. One-two, one-two—then many, and there they were, an army of death's finest dancers. They were slayers, at least twenty strong, armed with metal and wood and fire. The girls stopped at the alleyway's entrance, taking out a few stray demons that had the misfortune to wander toward the street. All standing stopped to stare at them. The slayers parted their numbers, anda figure walked between them, cloaked in black. The hood slid off.

"Red," Spike sighed, recognizing the witch immediately.

Somehow the sight of a familiar face had distracted him from seeing the woman walking to her side. It was Buffy, still has beautiful as he remembered with crossed arms and a stance that made every creature before her take a step back. Everyone knew _The_ Slayer.

"Buffy!" Angel called.

Her eyes found Angel's, and suddenly they were as soft as wet clay. Spike was lost in the moment between the two former lovers, but he shook his head, snapping out of her spell. There was the truth about her.

Buffy broke contact, looking back at the masses of demons. "Sorry to rain on your parade, boys, but it looks like you're going home alone tonight."

Spike half expected one of the larger demons to shout out a clichéd line about picking his teeth with her bones, but instead the ugly group kept their eyes on the females before them.

"Show them," Buffy said.

Willow nodded, raising both arms, a white glow radiating from her skin and hair. She spoke a word that seemed more like a sound, and a wall of light filled the space before her. The sheet of light was covered in glowing silver marks, words that Spike couldn't make out. A red stain blotched the bottom corner of the wall.

The demons' eyes were scanning it as quickly as one might read the Sunday comics. They lowered their claws and weapons as one. Then, strangely enough, they turned their backs and walked back from wince they came. They lined up in front of a tiny pinprick hole that was quickly growing into a portal. Without a growl or groan, the demons were gone.

"Bloody hell, Poofer! Why didn't we think of that?" Spike exclaimed.

Angel didn't look back at his grandchilde, but lowered his eyes on Buffy. "What have you done?" he asked quietly, accusation in his voice.

"I believe that's what we call saving your asses." Buffy glanced past Angel to Spike. Her mouth hung open in an unvoiced greeting. "Who's the smurf?" she asked.

"I am the God-King Illyria," said the being that was once Fred.

"I can explain later," Angel interrupted. He walked forward, ignoring the cautious glances the younger slayers were sending his way.

Buffy looked over her shoulder. "Stand down," she ordered. "We won't be needed after all."

The girls released sighs and some even dared to roll their eyes. They faded into the foreground, mixing and chatting about a shoe sale that they had spotted on their way down.

"What just happened?" Spike asked, a thousand other questions on his mind. Why was she here? Why didn't she say hello to him? Did she know he was alive? The pig's blood in his veins boiled at the sight of the beloved vampire slayer.

"Spike," Buffy let out a shallow breath that washed away the questions. "It's good to see you alive. Andrew mentioned. . ."

"Glad to know I was missed, love, but I asked a question."

"What did you do?" Angel hissed. His glare was torn, angry in the middle and gentle around the sides. Spike knew the other vampire was itching for the chance just to touch her again. "Please, tell me that was not a contract Willow just displayed. Did you make a deal with Wolfram and Hart?"

"I didn't," she snapped.

Willow stepped up. "It was the Immortal. He did it as a going away present. He made a deal to sleep for a couple hundred years in exchange for the withdrawals of . . . troops."

"How perfectly perfect of him." Spike turned, eyeing Illyria. The blue creature was standing, head cocked, beside him, her piercing eyes on the women before her.

"You are strong," she stated, dully.

Buffy ignored her for the most part, looking up at Angel. "You know, a thanks would be nice."

"The contract's probably part of some evil scheme," he replied. A smile graced his face. "But, thanks for showing."

Spike rolled his eyes, swinging a hand dramatically between Buffy and Angel. Buffy's eyes darted to him, and instantly the sexual tension heightened amongst the group. Spike withdrew, leaving her with a questioning frown. "I'm going to find Gunn's body," he announced.

He walked toward the end of the alley where he had last seen his friend. He could feel stares burning a hole in his back, but he ignored them, stopping at an overturn dumpster. He stooped behind it. It wasn't much of a treasure hunt, but there he was, lying across a pile of garbage bags, lifeless. There was not enough blood in the body to feed a vampiric rat, and he looked as if he had taken a couple good swings before striking out. Spike slid down so that the others couldn't see him and let his eyes wander over the remains of Charlie-boy.

"Couldn't sign the paper fast enough, could he? Couldn't save you and the bookworm."

Spike glanced over the side of the hunk of metal, eyes trained on Buffy and Angel. They were still standing two feet from one another, but the bond between them showed as clearly as a needle looping string through their skins. There was Truth again, stabbing him in the eye. The Truth about her wasn't about her at all, it was about him. Spike's demon loved Buffy as much as he had, but the Spark,

Burn,

Pain,

Wasn't the same. It was false, electric light, not fire. The demon still wanted it, the man did too, but he had a soul now. And the man was able to say no.

Spike brushed off what remained of his replaced jacket and stood to full height. There was a door in front of him (literally and figuratively). It probably led to a shop. It most likely had a tiny lock that a creature such as himself could break without making much of a sound. No one would notice him gone. And that was the way he wanted it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 2: White Knight's Detour**

Spike groaned into the leather clad cradle of his arm letting the stringent scents of the bar-top fill his sensitive nostrils. A hulking human stood on the other side of the bar, wiping glasses with a bored expression on his pudgy face. He lazily pulled the empty bottle from Spike's grasp.

The ensouled vampire lifted his head, his eyes murky with what any other person would assume to be exhaustion. They would only be half right. Spike was tired alright, tired of good and bad and love, tired of the struggle and dance. He knew that he would want it back one day, but not now, hopefully not in _her_ lifetime. Buffy had wanted the fighter over the poet, and that had only gotten him dusted. The resurrection bit had landed him on Angel's doorstep, ready to brawl. Now, he just wanted to get as smashed as unhumanly possible.

"Another one of those, mate. If possible, an even crappier beer, imported this time. After all, I am an equal opportunity drunk."

The bartender glared at him for a moment, unaware that he was casting the evil eye at one of the undead. Nevertheless, he had been at the job for long enough to know a drunk from someone drowning in self pity. He shook his head. Another thing he knew was that the punk in front of him sure as hell could hold his liquor. "Last one, buddy." With a smirk he added, "At the rate you're going, you'll clean me out of the cheap stuff by daybreak, when I'll need it for the regulars."

"Ah, day drinkers, they're more pathetic than I am." Spike let a small laugh escape from between his lips. "What about my onion bloom?"

"No food," the human snapped, not for the first time since midnight.

Spike shrugged, tipping back his beer and draining it within a minute. He dropped the bottle back down and stood, half stumbling toward the doorway. He walked out into the night, realizing that the darkness was as silly as a costume, unable to hide the the day that would appear within a few hours. Usually he was snoozing away in a crypt by this time of morning. Damn the twenty-four hour bar.

The bar stool was the closest thing to a home he had at the moment. In fact, he could not even recall the name of the sleepy little town in which he roamed. A fortnight ago, he had fallen asleep inside a train's stock car, trying to escape from the sun's rays. When he'd awoken, he realized that the train was moving and that it had probably been traveling for hours. He'd jumped and walked to the closest cemetery without another thought. The only thing he was certain of was that he was not in L.A. anymore.

Setting didn't matter anyhow. As long as he was alone, away from _them_, he would be able to live in reasonable peace, as long as his cash held. _I could get very use to the drunk vampire routine, especially since I'm already on a liquid diet._

Spike stopped at the street corner, eyes straight in front of him. Two hundred feet away stood a tall, dark shadow.

"Oh my! A mysterious figure!" Spike mused. "Who every could it be? Well, judging from the brooding stoop and the 'intoxicating' scent of nancy boy hair gel, I'll have to say. . ."

Angel walked out into the light of a moth covered street lamp. "I see you haven't staked yourself yet."

"Brilliant deduction, Watson."

"Save it," Angel said. "I'm here for a reason."

"Do I look like I have my red light on, you poofer?" Spike stumbled forward, a his eyes glistening with the drunkard's muse in his head. "What do you want? A trophy? You won the game, mate. You got the girl. What could you possibly want from me?"

Angel frowned. "She wanted me to find you," he said.

Spike raised a brow, urging on his grandsire. "What? Does she need help babysitting while the two of you go on honeymoon—hopefully, somewhere nice and sunny, I might add."

The other vampire gave him a look that clearly stated 'not funny.' "Actually, I was the one who suggested that you would be our best bet. We have a problem. Xander went missing a few days ago from the Cleveland base."

A look of concern swept over Spike's face, but he wiped it off as quickly as it had appeared. "And what? The other scoobies need a mutt to follow his scent?" he asked. "It looks to me like they already have one. Plus, he probably just ran off to elope with a new demon girl."

Angel walked forward. "I couldn't find him. Willow's location spell couldn't find him. . . As much as I really hate saying this, they need your help."

"If you didn't notice, the whelp wasn't a big fan of mine." Spike rubbed his temple, trying to ward off the sobering topic. "The boy was alright by me, but what could I possibly do if Super Witch couldn't find him?"

"We thought you might know something." Angel looked down, his brow furrowed. "We think we know who took him. A few slayers spotted Drusilla in town the night before he disappeared."

"Dru?" Spike breathed.

* * *

"I caught a new birdie when I left Daddy's all burnt and patchy," she said faintly, her hypnotic eyes washing over Xander's beaten chest. Drusilla leaned in and licked up a crimson drip that was rolling down him breast. She heard his swift intake of breath and smiled dreamy, her eyes dancing. She enjoyed touching him, teasing him, hurting him. . . He was worth her time.

"It was a pretty singer—its outside was white. And its insides were just as red and pretty as yours." Drusilla frowned. "But she kept opening her dirty little beak. 'Ca! Ca! When? When?' she asked. 'When can I see the one who sees? When will we fetch our white knight?'"

The vampire drew back, her wet, stained lips upturned into a grin.

"Fun story, how about another tale from the psycho ward," Xander snapped.

The effort made him release a rasping cough that shook his body painfully. If felt like there was a fire raging in his lungs. Drusilla's new cronies had surprised him while he was on an emergency run for one of his slayers. He'd expected that they would try to kill him; after all, they were vampires. He dusted two before they beat him down, pounding his rib cage until he'd passed out. He'd inevitably drifted awake a few times, aware that he was moving, but he'd had his lights punched out every time. When Drusilla had finally cooed him to consciousness, he was sure he looked more like a bleeding radish than a man.

"Birdie was very naughty. I told her _soon,_ but she just kept singing and singing until I made her wear her crimson coat." Drusilla pulled at her long brown hair desperately. "If she had been a good girl, I would have let her pet you."

She raked her sharp fingers over Xander's shoulder. He tried to jerk out of her grasp and realized that his arms were tied behind his back.

"What exactly was the moral of the. . ." He screamed as the vampire dug her thumb beneath his collarbone.

"What a nice spot for a picnic," she commented.

"Seriously, you must want something, or I would be a stiff already," Xander panted. "No one's paying ransom for my carpenter butt, and I doubt I'm tasty enough to trouble an expert on demon dining such as you."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Drusilla ran her hand up his cheek, pouting. She reached his eye patch and lifted it gently. The vampire leaned in, her lips against his ear. "I can't see it," she whispered. "I've tried and tried, and it's nagged and nagged like an old mother hen, but I can't see it. But I can see you, my knight, and you can see it for me."

Xander stared at her in confusion. "What, are you more vision impaired than me? Because, I'm seein' two eyes in your head."

"I want you to see," she hissed. "I can see the rivers of blood . . . I've seen them for so long. I can see the pain and hear the beautiful song of anguish. But I can't see who the shadow is . . . I want you to look for the shadow for me. Find him for me, and I'll let you go back and play with your tasty girlies. My knight, all you need to do is see my new master, and tell me his name."

Xander's eye widened. "Master? Listen crazy blood sucking girl, I know nothing about a new master, and the 'fiery end' speech is getting old."

Drusilla lowered her mouth onto his and kissed him deeply, leaving the taste of copper in Xander's mouth. "You will see for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer for entire story: I don't feel like posting this on every chapter. Anyhow, I don't own Buffy and co., k? **

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 3: In Remembrance of You**

"Not enough," she whispered. "More."

_You will see._

He had seen. Flashes, glimpses of what 'could' come to pass, what 'could' be the future, turned through his head, repeating, changing. But the Dark One—that figure whom Drusilla wanted him to see above all others—was hidden from him. Xander could see his actions, though. He could see the new Master pick up a body, cracking it neck and tossing it aside like stale bread. He could see him burning so many, catching the prey he smoked out. The world was alive, but it lived in night, chaos overrunning. The human race remained cattle.

But that creature that did these foul deeds was a shadow, acting like a man, formed like a man, but his identity was blurred and misshapen by something deep within Xander's mind.

Drusilla's lips were on his neck, her fangs bore into his skin, taking his blood in an agonizingly slow way so that he would not die. She couldn't let his valuable mind fade away, could she? Xander knew her thoughts for the moment, her frustrations and her visions. The whys and the hows could not be answered. Xander didn't want an answer; he simply wanted to stop drowning in her madness.

_You will see more. _

"There's nothing more!" Xander cried out. "I've told you everything already. You chose the wrong person, you nut. Just finish this or let me go."

Drusilla looked up, her demonic features fading away to human beauty. "But, sweet boy, there is something, just beneath the surface." She cupped his chin. "All mummy has to do is dig it out. Be good, and I may give you a nice lollipop."

Xander shook his head. "I don't want to know what that could be a metaphor for," he said, coughing out a laugh. "There's nothing left in me, Drusilla."

The vampire stared at him for a moment, eyes dancing over him. "You're right."

Xander blinked his good eye and frowned. "You're agreeing with me?"

"_And the one who sees will look upon the mortal death and taste its coldness, and he will be one with it in the spirit, where the mind's eye may look upon its cause and smile with knowledge." _Drusilla giggled at his look of confusion. "Look, boy," she cooed. "Isn't it what you want to hear? They cheer, they cheer, the ones you hold so dear, but do they know their handsome knight will see in fright the true night. And that you will make the ones they hate cheer, darkness cheer, as the image becomes clear."

"Your rhyming sucks," Xander growled. "And I have no idea what you just said."

"They will hate you because you're special, just like them, better than them," Drusilla said. She leaned into him. "You'd know that, were you a better poet."

"So what now? I'm 'special'—you sound like you're my counselor," Xander sighed. "How does this change anything? I'm still tied up, you're still torturing me. I'm still not seeing, you're still nuts."

"Quiet." Drusilla raised a finger to her lips. "Speak softly." She looked to the other side of the room where a large male vampire who looked like a Soprano family cousin stood with his arms crossed. "It's not nice to speak so loudly to a guest." The other vampire nodded and stepped out. Drusilla looked back at Xander. "You're a tool. I was about to break the looking glass, when all I need to is point it in the right direction. Aren't we glad the stars told me to leave supper at the table!" she said, her voice cheerful.

"I think you're getting crazier . . ." Xander broke off, swallowing his words. The male vampire had returned with a body slung over his shoulder. The vampire dropped it to the ground.

It was the corpse of a young girl, no more than twelve. Her eyes, once bright and blue, were staring up at Xander. Drusilla moved to brush a blonde curl off of her face and run a hand over her dress to smooth it down.

"What a lovely dolly she'd make," the vampire commented, a frown on her face. "But we have better things for this one, yes we do."

Drusilla grinned at Xander, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close. "_Look upon the mortal death and taste it's coldness. _However could I have forgotten that part?" She pulled him down, tugging at the rope that held him in place until it released his raw wrists. "Are you ready to truly see?"

* * *

"You poofer!"

"You would have done the same thing!"

"The hell I would've, Captain Forehead. You'd think you'd have a brain behind that thick skull."

"Drop it, Spike. It was an accident."

"A likely story."

"How many more hours do I have to put up with this?"

"Well, we would have gotten an earlier start if you hadn't parked your damn car so far away and gotten us lost in the sewers searching for the parking garage—a car, might I add, that you suspiciously had parked elsewhere the night that the whole bloody building collapsed. Getting it detailed, my arse—and it just happened to have been the Jag."

"It was in the shop! And why are you complaining? I thought you liked traveling by day."

"Not when I have an idiot driving who rolls down the window at noon high!" Spike shouted, rubbing his hand where the sun had scorched him a few hours earlier. Even though the burn had long since healed, the distinct smell of burnt skin still filtered through the car. Angel had only had his hair singled by the encounter.

"It was after noon, and how else could I have paid the guy pumping our gas?" Angel snapped. "Would you rather run out of fuel in the middle of no where?"

"_I _would have filled up the tank the night before," Spike answered.

Angel's mouth opened and closed, but he didn't answer. Instead he concentrated on driving. The sun was setting, sending brilliant violets and reds in every direction. The anti-sun complex usually did not allow for the luxury of watching a sun set, but the enchanted, vampire friendly vehicle, courtesy of an unaware Wolfram and Hart, had let him enjoy such daylight pleasures during the time he'd spent searching for Spike.

Having won the argument, the blond vampire leaned forward, turning on the radio. "What can I say—Idol hands." He watched Angel roll his eyes as the lyrics to "White Wedding" began to sound throughout the car. "Have you heard his newer stuff?" Spike asked. "I mean 'climb up my lemon tree'—what sort of metaphor is that. . . Not bad subject matter, mind you."

"What are we doing?"

Spike stared at his grandsire, faking confusing. "Well, on this planet we call it 'speaking'."

"Xander's already dead," Angel said. "I don't know why I kept looking for you. I think I was just trying to keep Buffy from breaking. All of this is in vain."

"Aren't we the voice of optimism . . .?" Spike stared out the window, and silence met the two vampires. He wanted to be able to say 'whelp' without flinching, without thinking of Gunn's broken corpse, but he couldn't. He also couldn't give Angel an answer. As far as he knew, the young man was gone—after all, Dru couldn't keep a bird alive for a few days, what could a human hope for? Spike kept these thoughts to himself.

They reached the first traffic light of a new town. It was a small place, stuck between two hills as if it was hiding from the rest of the world. The streets were all well lit, clean and tiny and quaint. It seemed like a happy place, a place where girl scouts sold cookies and the little old women in the salon knew your name as soon as you passed the city limits. It also seemed overly familiar.

"Where are we?" Spike asked.

"The sign said Russellville," Angel answered.

"Let's hope it wasn't lying," Spike murmured. His attention was fully on the buildings they were passing.

Angel ignored him. "We probably should have gone on to the next town—this place doesn't look like it has a butcher who stays open after five."

Spike saw it then, the praying angel. He shook his head slowly. "I've been here before."

"_There! There! That's it. See her tears—they fall for him."_

"_This is a hell of a lot out of our way, Dru. We should have gone straight through—we'll never reach the hellmouth by tomorrow night this way," Spike complained, parking in front of the church. "Are you sure this is where you want to hunt."_

_The female vampire turned his way quickly. "Oh, not yet," she said, as if it were law. "Not for a long time. . . We can't go into this place tonight." _

"_Let me guess," the blond said, lighting up, "too many crosses."_

"_Not time," she sighed. "We'll see the white knight here one day."_

"_Who, Dru?"_

"_The one who sees."_

"_Gathered that much, love," Spike said, a small smile on his face. It was bound to fade soon, though. After all, who could blame him for getting grumpy when he was hungry?_

"_The Knight takes king, oh, but I will be his queen, and we will swim in blood up to necks. It will be so lovely," she laughed, clapping her hands giddily. _

"_You sure know how to make a bloke jealous, love."_

"What?" Angel asked, breaking Spike from the memory.

_The one who sees._

"He's alive," the other vampire whispered. "The boy's alive. And he's in that church."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own it if you recognize it. The storyline, however, is mine so no reproductions without permission. **

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 4: Old Flame**

"**_Everything that deceives may be said to enchant." --Plato_**

_And the one who sees will look upon the mortal death and taste its coldness, and he will be one with it in the spirit . . . . Where the mind's eye may look upon its cause and smile with knowledge. Do you see?_

The vampire's long, slender fingers wrapped around his neck, pinching his jaw bone between thumb and index until her nails drew blood. Xander was flat on the floor, stomach first, his torso supported on elbows alone as Drusilla forced him to look down at the corpse whose serene face was now inches below his own, her small body facing the opposite direction.

Dru sat straddling his backside, her long dress pulled up to her knees. Her breasts pushed into his shoulder blades as she leaned onto him, whispering into his ear.

"Do you see it, my special one?" she asked. A bead of sweat traced down his temple, and she kissed it off as if it was the sweetest of honey. "Do you?"

Xander took a rasping breath. He tried to give one of this typical smart-ass answers, but he couldn't. His eye was on the girl's, looking deeper and deeper into the pupil. He could see the fires raging on inside the body of the child, and once he had spotted it, he hadn't been able to break his connection with the dead.

"My knight," Drusilla cooed. "You are trying, but you keep wanted to slay the dragon," she scolded. "Let the beast have the maiden—reach out for the treasure."

Xander grunted, fear washing over him as he was forced to watch the mad visions that the spirit showed him. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and he shook from the tension of staying in his own world.

"Don't worry," the vampire said, loosening her grasp. "The teachers will teach and learned will be the lesson. I will turn your pretty white to gray, but I won't let the black get you, boy."

The young man let out a startled cry, clenching his good eye shut. His body grew lax. Dru caught him before he could fall onto the corpse, softly cradling him in her arms as she stood half-way to him to turn him onto his back. She leaned over him, smiling down like a proud mother. Dru stroked his cheek, running a finger over his lower lip.

"You saw."

Xander didn't move. His eye opened, but his gaze was wondering as if he was seeing more than the moldy ceiling of the room.

"That sweet girly gave you a face," Drusilla said, her smile vicious. "Tell me, who is the shadow who brings the storm? Who will be my master?"

"I saw him," Xander said, his voice too low for human ears. "I wouldn't have believed it, but . . . it was there, there for me to see. Just for me. . ."

"His name?" Drusilla asked.

Xander looked up at her, focusing for the first time. "And why the hell would I tell you?" he spat.

Drusilla's grin faded but not because of Xander's outburst. She turned her head, her nostrils flaring. With a toss of her head, she motioned for the big guy to go outside. "Daddy's coming for a visit," she sighed, looking down at Xander. "He's early. We must clean up this dreadful place before he arrives."

She slipped an arm under Xander, lifting him up. His feet were flat on the ground, but his knees didn't want to lock. The vampire sat him down in the corner of the room, his back against the wall.

"Stay put and there will be extra pudding for you, my sweet." She coughed out a short giggle, and then her face went hard as stone, all madness put aside. "How does it feel to know before it happens . . . like I do sometimes? How does it feel to know that you can't stop it?"

Xander didn't have time to answer. Goon Number One reappeared before the doorway and was half through when he exploded into a cloud of dust. In the wake of his termination stood Angel and Spike, each posed with a stake in hand.

"Drusilla," Angel greeted.

* * *

Spike stood to Angel's side, gameface on and body tense. He was ready for a fight. Drusilla had only left three guards around the Church and one in the basement—not nearly enough to even begin to sate his hunger for violence, especially since Angel had gotten the big fella.

The two ensouled vampires stepped into the room, their senses flaring up. Amongst the musty scent of earth, Xander's blood hung to the air, as well as the smell of dead flesh. Spike caught sight of the girl on the floor first. He heard Angel release a soft growl; the child was a typical choice for Drusilla.

Angel charged forward, throwing a fist at Drusilla. The female vampire dogged him, her nails, like talons, scraping his face. Angel ignored the sting, rolling out of the way of her attack. He didn't spare a glance at Spike, shouting out at him.

"Get Xander out of here and come back."

The demon in Spike was pissed at the command, but the man looked at Dru and didn't want to be a part of the enviable ending. Two strides later, he was crouched over Xander, pulling him to his feet.

"This is familiar," Xander commented recalling the evening he'd lost his eye.

"Well, if you'd learn to quit getting yourself into bloody messes. . ." Spike replied, but his heart wasn't in the statement—he was watching Angel battle Drusilla.

The female vampire tossed her sire over the room's dusty table, following him over. Angel got the upper hand again, putting a kick into her side. He threw her into the wall. Her body displaced the stones, and loose soil sifted through and over her head like a waterfall. She pushed back Angel, and her head turned to Spike. She stared at him with those predator eyes that had frightened and entranced him such a long time ago.

"_And I wonder what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?"_

_William looked up, drying his cheeks as quickly as possible. "Nothing," he stated quickly. He stared at the dark beauty before him, losing his tongue for a moment. "I wish to be alone."_

"_Oh, I see you," she said, ignoring his request. "A man surrounded by fools who can not see his strength. . ." She moved forward with the grace of a great cat, her pace displaying her own power with each strong step. ". . . His vision. . ." The smile that threatened to upturn her lips, reached her exotic eyes. ". . . His glory. . ."_

Spike shook the memory away, but his eyes were still for her. Drusilla kicked out at Angel, and he fell back. She mouthed to Spike words that he could hear spinning through his mind. "That and burning baby fish swimming about in your head."

"Spike." The vampire looked turned toward the man he was holding up. Xander stared at him with an intensity that Spike had never seen before, even when the boy was shouting his hate at him. "Don't do it," Xander warned.

The vampire raised a brow of confusion. "What are you on about? We're rescuing you, if you haven't noticed."

"That's not what I'm talking about," the young man snapped. "You'll want to help. . . Don't. You'll just cause more pain. . . I've seen it."

"What the hell?" Spike growled. "What are you talking. . ."

Spike cut off, sitting Xander back down on the floor.

The fight was over.

Angel had picked up a rock and slammed it against Drusilla's head. She had dropped like a fly, lying on her side on the floor. Angel raised a stake, looking down at her seeming innocent form.

He could see it, just as Spike could, the girl that hid the monster within. But that was the difference between Angel and Spike. Spike had cared for her. He had loved her. Angelus had saw her as 'a work of art'. For over a hundred years, she had been Spike's world. He had gotten his soul since then, put his affections in another, and he hadn't thought of her once since. Guilt pulled at him like a hook in his throat drawing him out into daylight.

"I'm sorry," Angel breathed. "I'm sorry, Dru." He raised the weapon.

Spike was beside him before he could turn, a grim look pasted on his face. "I'm sorry, too, mate," the blond said, jumping into a kick. His boot threw Angel's head back, and the older vampire fell onto the floor, dazed. Spike grabbed Drusilla by the arm, tossing her over his shoulder as if she was little more than a rag doll. With a second thought, he punched Angel again with his free fist and ran a hand into his grandsire's pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

He was at the door way when he looked back at Xander. "You know what I mean to do?" he asked.

He could hear Angel groan from his place on the floor.

Xander nodded. "Don't. I can't explain the why, but she's going to be your curse."

"Can I save her?"

"If you do this," Xander began.

"Can I or can't I?"

The young man looked down to the floor. "Yeah," he said faintly. "Her soul's still innocent. You'll just have to find it."

Spike gave a swift nod and ran out of the room, up the staircase toward the chapel.

Xander stared after him. "Let's just hope hell doesn't find us first."

**End Notes: I hope that wasn't terribly confusing. What Xander saw, the consequences of what Spike's done…what was on Spike's mind, will call come up in the next chapter. So, review and tell me what you think, even if it's in three letter ('Yay!' or 'WTF?')—I enjoy all feedback, as long as it doesn't say that I'm a scum sucking loser . . . lol.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

* * *

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 5: Clarity**

He had _seen._

A stake. When had he picked up the stake? For that matter, when had he gathered the strength to stand again? Xander didn't know, but there he stood in an action-figure pose, one lunge away from Angel. All he had to do was move, just move. The vampire was down after all . . . It was time.

But this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The way of_ prevention_ was long past—Drusilla should have died. Spike had done the stupid thing, following memories of his heart into the black abyss of irrationality. And now Xander was left with the dirty work.

_We're screwed. The world is screwed._

The young man shook his head.

"This is how it begins," he whispered, slowly lowering his weapon. The stake dangled from his fingers and then fell, clattering to the floor. "There goes another chance to end it."

Angel grunted at the statement, grasping at the floor and pushing himself up on hands and knees. A blink later, he stood, steady gaze on the exit in front of them.

"Damn it, Spike!" he growled, clenching his fists. He turned, concern written across his face. "Xander? I need to get you to a hospital."

"No. We should. . ." Xander stumbled against the door frame. He shook the fog from his head and glanced up with a dopey, half-hearted smile. "On second thought, giving a few hot nurses my puppy dog face doesn't sound that bad."

Angel moved quickly, wrapping an arm around the young man's waist and leading him toward the stairs. Xander couldn't keep himself up on his own but still laughed faintly at their predicament.

"Didn't know you were into manly embraces, dead boy," he snorted, wincing as a wave of dizziness passed over him.

Angel didn't answer. It really didn't matter. Xander was no longer paying attention, his one good eye trailing back toward the abandoned stake.

_So much for saving the world._

* * *

She was the Biblical serpent, curled up on the rug of scratchy briars and greenery, a bundle of temptation and danger. But she wasn't Lucifer. She was . . . A beast. And every beast has its innocence. And so long as it is innocent, it knows bliss. Only knowledge can bring it back to the hell that is the real world.

Drusilla didn't live here, in this time and place. She was somewhere else. Off in the stars perhaps. Or maybe she was everywhere. Even inside of him.

Spike stared down at her sleeping form as he stripped clean the cellar entry. He'd parked the car in a barn, spotting the old, abandoned homestead from the road. They were barely out of the town, but Spike knew that Angel would get Xander help before coming after him and Dru. Or, at least, he hoped so. Surely this place would do them for a few hours.

_But why stop in the first place? Why not drive all night and day in that fancy vampmobile that you stole from the ponce?_

No bloody answer for that one. He didn't really have a reason for running off in the first place. After all, he was a good guy now. Right? He fought the good fight, like damn Batman on a liquid diet. Only difference was that he killed the bad guys instead of sending them off to a poorly secured asylum (though, God knew, that would be a proper home for Dru). In Spike's world, the big bads tended to be the essence of evil, or simply lacking a soul.

A soul.

Spike reached down, an arm cradling his sire as he drug her down into the darkness. The stench of humidity, mold, and the little old lady who died in the house a few months past slapped the vampire in the face, far more of an assault than the wall of spider webs or the angry, screeching cry from a field mouse. Spike dropped her on the floor, reaching out to find the oil lamps and candles lining a shelf on the wall, lighter already in hand.

Light didn't flood the room, instead creeping like a cautious animal over the junk boxes and jars of preserves. Didn't matter—it wasn't like he had bad night vision.

"Where is my William, I wonder?" came a sweet calling. "Off to start a bonfire like his wicked daddy did?"

Spike turned. Drusilla wasn't lying on the floor, but he could see the subtle outline of the female vampire standing in the shadows before the stairs. She cocked her head, and he could practically see her pouting face.

"Be a good girl and sit down, Dru," Spike said. He purposely kept his eyes away from exit, daring her to make a move. Sure, he could probably stop her—if he wanted to.

"I felt it happen. . . Knew you'd gotten that horrid piece of the sun put back in you. Why were you such a bad boy, Spike? Why couldn't you just kill her . . .? But, no—you got a soul." She stepped into the light, her expression livid. "You went and did that, all for her. I gave birth to you, boy. And how does my prince repay me? He goes giving another girl presents."

She glared at him. "Giving her your flesh. That flesh that I filled with blood. That was inside me, and I inside it. That wasn't yours to give. That was mine."

"Enough, Dru," Spike snapped.

Drusilla raised a brow. "Just make it like it was before," she whispered, rubbing her belly. "Only a little different." She smiled, the rage vanishing from her face. "But you've been good, too. Tonight. I can feel it. You want to say so many things, make up reasons for what you did, giving nasty Angel a beating."

He looked away from her. _Run away, luv. Run so that he can hunt you down, put a stick through your heart. __As long as I don't have to watch. _

He did have his reasons, though. Several of them made sense, too. He'd even _seen _something, a moment from the past, a little reel of the Bloody days that made the decision for him in the end. However, the reason that he used to throw his fist into Angel's face was Shame. He was the guilty party, after all.

Guilty because he hadn't given her a second thought when he was with Buffy.

Guilty because he hadn't staked her himself.

Guilty because he had loved her.

Guilty because he hated _her_.

Why should he be ashamed of himself? He didn't make her. On the contrary . . . But he had been her prince. And for the same reason he would not be able to put Angel in an urn, he could not let his grandsire kill her.

She was family.

"See? No reason, Spike?" Laughter. "You couldn't let him hurt your real mummy. Why couldn't you, Spike?"

Drusilla was a soulless being. She should die, be laid to rest, just like all of the other vampires he and Angel and Buffy and the Scoobies had put down. Just like him. But Buffy had let Spike live, because she needed him at the time. It was different with Dru.

"Because I wronged you, princess."

_She needs me, too, to save her._

"And because I need you. . . To make things right again."

_To save her soul._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or Ats.**

* * *

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 6: Just a Little Taste**

_I died for Beauty—but was scarce_

_Adjusted in the Tomb_

_When One who died for Truth, was lain_

_In an adjoining Room—_

* * *

"Make it right again."

Spike imagined the request and wondered, would right make right like evil made evil? Could he do this? It sounded just like the _oh_ _so noble _quest he would have scoffed at a few years back. But this was the gig he'd signed up for, even though, at the time, he had expected that all good deeds would come back to Buffy. This would only take him further from his slayer, and he wasn't even sure if the effort would be worth the treasure in the end. Could he even find Dru's soul, and, if he did, would it be right of him to shove it back into that broken mind? Could she, as an innocent, take that change?

He lowered his head in his hands, and, though he didn't breathe, he pushed air out of his mouth, his teeth hissing as the questions plagued his mind. He wanted to move from his seat on the crate, but Drusilla was sitting there at his feet, staring up at him, her head moving side to side as if she were a great snake, hypnotizing her prey.

She was very good at that, fooling a mind into action. That was why Spike refused to look at her directly, instead watching her pale porcelain cheek, aglow in the lamp light, fading in and out of existence as shadow played across her skin. She was quite a beauty, and a part of the male vampire wanted to reach down and cup her cheek.

"Ask yourself, my pretty boy, why haven't you put a root in my breast? Why do you sit, unmoving, a corpse of stone, a paste of ash and milk? Why did you disobey Daddy if not to come away with me, to find what you've been missing, what you really want?"

She smiled like a coy maiden, slowly bracing herself on his thighs, pushing in and up until her lips were inches from his chin. "Don't you want to taste something warm again? Something wet and sweet and red?" She laughed, her fingers painfully squeezing his legs through the black denim.

"You still don't get it, Dru," Spike laughed, too, and wondered if a bit of her pretend madness was catching. "I didn't save you so that I could become what I was. I'm different now."

"How different?" Drusilla snapped, interrupting him. "You drink like the rest of us. Just because there's a little part inside of you that doesn't like it, doesn't mean you should stop. You're an animal, Spike. You're my animal. Come back to me, puppy." She whistled, giggling until she fell back onto the cement floor, sprawled out suggestively with one leg hiked up. "Here, beast. Come home, monster."

"You're right, Dru."

Spike cocked his head, sliding down from his seat until his knees banged against the rock. He slid a leg between her thighs, holding himself above her. "You're right," he repeated, his face transforming, brow gnarled, fangs glistening. "I do drink."

He collapsed atop her, his teeth digging into the perfect skin of her neck, pushing deeper and deeper until she cried out for him. But he only drunk more, drowning in a crimson lake until the writhing form beneath him stilled.

* * *

_He questioned softly "Why I failed"?_

"_For Beauty", I replied—_

"_And I—for Truth—Themselves are One—_

_We Brethren, are", He said—_

* * *

He didn't expect for her to come. Slayers were busy people; they had worlds to save and evil dudes to kill. But, apparently, it wasn't Buffy the Vampire Slayer standing in the doorway. It was Buffy the friend.

Two steps and she had crossed the distance, bending the side rail of the bed as she leaned in, wrapping her arms around him.

"Watch the ribs," Xander said, letting out a breathy laugh.

Buffy released him, pulling back, a sad smile on her face. "We were afraid . . ." She shook her head, leaning in until she and her best friend were touching foreheads. "I'm glad you're still around."

"Couldn't have the Scoobies without me. But I've been through worse, Buff. You didn't have to fly in." Xander smiled, adjusting his eye patch. "I'm glad you did, though." He glanced around the room. "Have you seen dead boy yet?"

Buffy nodded. "We talked. He told me what happened." A shadow seemed to pass over her face, but she stopped herself from saying what was on her mind, gently nibbling her bottom lip. "I guess you were right," Buffy said. "I let Spike get away with too much. But I thought he was different." She shrugged, brushing off her emotions with the movement. "He saved the world . . .And then he does something like this. I can't let him get away with helping her, not after what she did to you."

"That's not . . ." he cut off, letting his reply fade when he saw Buffy's eyes widen. After all, Xander was usually the one on the 'let's stake Spike' campaign. "I just don't want to spend time going after him. There are more important things coming."

Xander scooted over, letting Buffy take a seat on the bed. Angel had been able to get him to a hospital with time to spare, but the hours had turned and morning came. Xander imagined that the vampire was looking for someplace a bit less sunny to spend the day.

"What are you talking about, Xander?"

Xander raised a brow. "I mean, there's always a big bad around to capture your attention, isn't there? There's no need going after two vampires, especially when one has a soul."

"Why did she let you live?" Buffy blinked, frowning at her own forwardness. "Let me rephrase that . . .OK, so maybe I can't. Why did Drusilla take you, Xander? Did you find out?"

_To see._

_See into the dead--_

_The face of the new master._

"Not sure," Xander answered slowly.

Buffy let a moment pass, and the young man realized that she was watching him. She knew that he was lying.

"Angel said you were acting strange."

Xander laid his head back, yawning dramatically. "Listen, I'm glad you came, but the doctors gave me some meds, and I'm pretty tired."

The slayer put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I shouldn't have woken you, anyhow. We'll talk when you're up to it. I need to call Will and Giles in the meantime; they'll kill me if I don't give them an update every two seconds."

Xander watched her go, hurt passing over his face. He should tell her. He should tell her the truth. But he wouldn't—he couldn't let her heart break again.

* * *

_And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—_

_We talked between the Rooms—_

_Until the Moss had reached our lips—_

_And covered up—our names_

_--Emily Dickinson (449)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ats or BtVS.**

_**Ignorance is Bliss**_

**Chapter 7: Broken Toys**

A dolly lay on the bed, all porcelain and white, painted blush on her round cheeks, glimmering green plastic eyes, always open. She was covered in cream lace and brown curls and looked as innocent as the corpse beside her. But she would never wake. The body, however, would: Drusilla would awaken soon.

Spike watched her a moment longer, a strange part of him wanting to see the vampiress's long fingers wrap around the poppet he'd bought her, give it her demented, childish love. Another part of him wanted Drusilla to stay down, always down, never to move again. It would be better that way, for both of them.

The ensouled vampire plopped down onto the edge of the mattress, cupping Dru's chin with one hand. He squeezed until her lips parted and slipped a straw into her mouth, holding a ceramic mug half-full of thick crimson with his free hand. A minute passed before the woman tensed, her face transforming into its demon mask. She suckled at the drink greedily, only opening her eyes when a slurping sound told her that the cup was empty.

"More," she said, her voice soft and hoarse. "And no piggy—I can taste the mud and slop in its juice, like dust on my tongue."

"No more, Dru. No more until we get to where we're goin', love. I can't afford you getting loose and drawing attention," Spike said, not looking her in the eye. "And pig's the best I can do—unless, of course, you'd prefer field mice."

"You naughty prince. Stole a girl's life and won't even buy her breakfast. Mummy didn't raise such a rude boy," she muttered with a lidded gaze. A sly smile was on her face, as if Spike's actions were more amusing than offending, as if he was a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

She was limp, still weak, even with the bit of blood Spike had fed her. He'd drained her dry on purpose, knowing that his only other option was a set of chains he hadn't yet bought. He'd driven through the day and half the night with her propped up beside him, just like the old days, the bloody days. It was almost like the last time he'd ran out on Angel, when Buffy had been fighting Angelus to the death, before he'd cared about the slayer. He'd escaped off into the sunset, car blacked out and lover knocked out in his lap.

Good times. It was so much simpler then. Save Dru, make her love him. Kill, maim, feast, and make love— so simple. There were no feelings for his enemy, and there certainly wasn't a damn soul in the equation.

But things change.

"I bought you something, Dru." Spike picked up the doll, holding it in her line of sight. Another ex-Big Bad might feel foolish at having to buy a grown woman toys, but Spike didn't, even when he was all fang and claw. He'd been the initiate giving her dolls when she'd gotten weak—they'd pleased her so. "A friend for you while Miss Edith is on holiday."

"She's broken," Drusilla hissed, glaring at the toy as if it was sunlight on her skin. "She's all broken inside, glass shattered and cutting, slicing, spilling. . . Shake the poppet once, shake it twice, hear the pieces making noise inside. Oh, it's beautiful, Spike, a blood lament, a toy song, broken broken broken."

The female vampire's pointless ramble dribbled off, and her eyes closed again.

Bright headlights filtered in through the shear curtain over the window. Spike stood, dropping the doll. He crossed the length of the motel room, opening the door before his visitor even had time to knock. Without missing a beat, the vampire grabbed the demon at the entrance by the scruff of his collar and pulled him inside, tossing him into the room's wooden chair.

"What took you so bloody long?" Spike growled, putting on this game face.

The yellow demon whimpered from where he sat, his skin fading to match the flowery Hawaiian print of his button-up shirt. "Sorry, Spike, dude," he squeaked. "I. . .I was. . ."

_Always the most bloody annoying informant. _

"Drop the chameleon routine." Spike stepped forward, crouching down until he was face to face with the minor demon's flabby face. "Now, what took you? What? Were you off telling your bar mates about me? Did you tell all your small town associates that I was here, Melvin?"

"No! No, Spike! Never! I'm your guy!"

"Keep it down—the little lady's sleeping," Spike drawled. "I certainly hope you didn't hold me up in this rat's nest for nothing."

"No! Dude, no!" The demon lowered his voice, noting the threatening glance toward the female vampire. "My info is crisp and fresh, Spike—I'd bet my last batch of offspring on it."

"Did you get me a name?"

Melvin pulled a folded post-it out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. "Just like I said," he added. "Name and address, but I don't know if you really want to do this—this guy's one big sorcerer in these parts."

"And he has it?"

When the demon didn't answer, Spike growled, leaning down with fangs bare.

"Not exactly," Melvin said, wincing. "But he was the last to own it. He'd know where it went, right Spike, buddy? I mean, that's what you wanted, right?"

Spike kept his frown, his face smoothing out into a human's. He nodded solemnly.

Melvin nodded in return, as if his confidence was suddenly returning. "Yeah, yeah, ol' Mel's always got the right stuff. So, Spike, what about my fee? I mean, I don't want to sound pushy but . . . I got about two hundred little larva to feed at home. Wife would kill me if I didn't ask for payment."

Spike pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to the demon. "This should cover it—if someone comes through town lookin' for me. . ."

Melvin's eyes widened, and he grinned. "I haven't seen you since that party in '76, dude."

The demon let himself out, giving a wolf whistle when he noted the vehicle parked beside his own.

The vampire raised a brow, looking down at the note the demon had passed him. "Looks like we're going to see a wizard, love," he said to Drusilla's sleeping form.


End file.
